


Monster Sock Hop

by pluto



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-06
Updated: 2010-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto/pseuds/pluto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://prim.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://prim.livejournal.com/"><b>prim</b></a>, for the request meme.  May induce heavy WTFing.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Monster Sock Hop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prim](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=prim).



> Written for [](http://prim.livejournal.com/profile)[**prim**](http://prim.livejournal.com/), for the request meme. May induce heavy WTFing.

Once you really get going, it's not easy to stop sliding across a polished marble floor in sock feet. Even if you're a half-demon monster-hunting ass-kicker. In fact, all that added coolness assists your forward motion, making a sudden cease-and-desist next to impossible.

At least, that's how Dante explains it to Trish after sliding into her at something close to twenty mph.

"Why the hell are you running around without boots on, anyway?" she demands, after she's picked herself up.

Dante grins. He throws up the devil horns with both hands. "Just rockin' out with my socks out." He lifts one foot and wiggles his toes, giving Trish a glimpse of the now-dingy-grey bottoms. Trish groans.

"Why do I even ask?" She shakes her head. She bends over and retrieves her fallen guns from the ground, not-unintentionally giving Dante a good view of her ass. "So where's today's special?"

"In the library." Dante pauses. "With a lead pipe."

"You know, I see now why your own brother wanted to kill you."

"Ouch." Dante clutches melodramatically at his chest. "I'm crying inside, babe."

"And I'm dying inside every time you open your mouth. Is it really in the library?" Trish cocks Luce and then Ombra. She tenses and flexes the muscles in her shoulders and back, feeling the weight of Sparda against her body.

"Tell ya if you say pretty please."

She reaches over and slaps him across the back of the head.

"Ow! Yeah! The library. That one--" he says, pointing at the double doors to the far right.

"Thank you, darling," Trish says sweetly. She flips her long hair back over her shoulder and marches towards the doors, putting a bit of a sway into her step because she knows it makes him a little crazy. He rushes to catch up, but his socks are pretty slippery. Though she refuses to turn her head and acknowledge his idiocy, at the edges of her vision she sees him scrambling along beside her, like a dog trying to run across a patch of ice.

"Maybe you ought to--" she starts to say, but that's as far as she gets because the library doors burst open.

Trish has seen a lot of ugly in her short life, but the ugly that emerges from the library tops them all. She swallows a replay of her lunch, plants her feet and levels both Luce and Ombra at it.

"Get ready for a little action, ladies."

Then Dante whooshes past her, arms flailing. In his hands are Ebony and Ivory, pointing ever so helpfully at various points in the ceiling. She hears his "ooohhhh shiiiiii--" just moments before he slams straight into the walking monstrosity ahead of them.

Trish isn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or just start shooting.

Somehow she resists the lure of her itchy trigger fingers. She tries to tell Dante to move, but it's futile; the creature has lashed its clotty appendages all around Dante, binding his arms just short of Rebellion. Ebony and Ivory lay on the slick marble ground, far out of Dante's reach. She looks for a good shot, but the creature sucks Dante deeper in, enfolding him like a second coat. It's not killing him that worries her. Dante can withstand being shot and probably deserves a bullet or two in the ass. But she's not inclined to waste ammo on an ineffective attack. The creature's definitely using Dante to shield its more vulnerable parts.

She'd like to nail one of them in their more vulnerable parts, that's for sure.

Trish sighs, stuffs her guns back in their holsters, and mutters a curse under her breath. She is going to have to get in close, which is precisely what she doesn't want to do. The thing smells like rotten milk and dirty laundry and corpses; its less-than-symmetrical shape is dotted with pits and pustules oozing nasty fluid.

"You know," she tells it, coming in quick, "Being a devil doesn't mean you can't look good."

From somewhere in the tangle of the creature and Dante comes a muffled, "Like me!"

Trish looses the Sparda from its fastenings and goes after the creature fast. Her arms swing the heavy blade back effortlessly, hoping that her cut doesn't deprive Dante of body parts she might wish he still had later. It annoys her that he'll probably get in the way, somehow. She sucks in a deep breath, striking off her left foot hard to put all her strength into the blow--

\--and ricochets off some invisible magic shield worked around the creature.

"You've gotta be kidding me." Trish scowls.

She circles, testing the extent and strength of the shield with the Sparda's blade, but it seems to envelop the creature the way it has enveloped Dante. Trish curses under her breath and puts away the Sparda. She pulls Luce and Ombra out and, without much hope, fires several shots; as she expects, the shield stops even the enchanted ammo. She tries a barehanded blow, and burns the leading edge of her hand for her effort.

The creature strikes out at her with one blobby, indistinct appendage, sending her flying into the wall hard enough to drive the breath out of her. Trish tastes blood in her mouth. She spits.

"How come Dante just slides into you and I don't?"

It hits her how dirty that sounds and she grins, grimly. Not for long, though; the creature is no longer defending, and it's fast. It lobs organic projectiles at her that explode into wriggling, maggot-like masses that she has to deal with immediately; the few times she doesn't, they latch onto her and attempt to burrow through her boots before she fries them off with her electrical power.

She ducks back behind a column to catch her breath, studying the creature and scraping her knowledge of demon kind for some way to break through the protective magic, for some weakness. But nothing stands out, nothing but Dante's white hair and white-socked feet with their dirty grey bottoms punctuating a mass of blood-clot red.

Trish stares at Dante's dirty socks. There's a hole in the heel of the left one, and the bit of his skin that peeks through is dirty, too.

"Oh, no way," she says. She tells herself that it's likely Dante collided with the creature before it could protect itself. She argues with herself that it could be his speed, or Dante's own strength, or something else.

But then Trish glances at the base of the creature and notices that it is lifted away from the ground, the base of it undulating like a curtain in a breeze. She remembers how it quickly enveloped Dante, bringing him, too, up from the ground.

The creature launches another assault on her, driving her back. She's running out of room and options.

Trish shakes her head sadly and says, "I can't believe I'm about to do this."

She strips off her boots, which is no easy task as she tries to avoid the creature's attacks. Then her socks, because she's sure it's contact with the ground that breaks the creature's strength. Earth magic. Stone magic.

The marble is cold under her feet as she runs full speed towards the stinking, writhing monster. She prepares herself for the burn of the magical shield if she is wrong. The Sparda is heavy and alive in her hands.

She swings, her left foot braced against the marble, her right lifting up to give power to the blow. As she cuts she looses her own magic, electricity pouring into that red, rotting flesh.

Dante slams into her, driven outwards by the force of the creature's body exploding. He's laughing, damn him, as if he hasn't just spent a good ten minutes buried in the monster's nasty embrace. He rolls off of her, still laughing, gets up and offers her his hand. He notices her bare feet and guffaws.

"Told ya it was fun, babe," he says to her, as he pulls her up.

"Maybe a little," she admits. Trish picks up her feet, and wiggles her red-painted toes.


End file.
